The Smiling Game
by elodie
Summary: Pre-RENT - He compared every smile to hers. She was his queen, his pet, his downfall. He'd hate her sometimes but then he'd see that smile. And then he was forever her slave.
1. Rules

It's new. I think I like it. I hope you do. If you think the rating should be higher, tell me. Reviews are the food of life…

Peace

-elodie

The Smiling Game

01: Rules

I picked up the used condom off the floor and dropped it in the trash. It had been my last one. Roger never bought them. He didn't care. We didn't use them much. Only when I ovulated. Nice situation, huh?

I lit myself a cigarette. I hated smoking but I'd gotten hooked in high school. It's not like I hadn't tried to quit. But Roger smokes about two packs a day. He says it makes his voice sound sexy. So it's hard to not smoke when the guy I'm supposed to be in love with smokes all the time.

I needed a fix.

My hands were shaking. I couldn't stop shivering. At first I'd thought it was from the constant cold in the loft but it soon sunk in that I was hooked.

It's a strange feeling being addicted. I'd always say that I was addicted to chocolate or addicted to boys. But to be _truly_ addicted to something was a scary thing.

Cigarettes and heroin. I did some coke every now and again but I was never hooked. But I was a slave to heroin.

I can remember the first time I shot up so vividly. I'd run away from home, I was scared and alone in a city where no one cared. I met a guy at a bar and he took me home and told me he'd get me high if I'd fuck him.

So I did. It's not like I'd never fucked a guy before. Hell, my uncle would stick it in me almost every night back at home. I was the girl that the guys fucked. I was never the girlfriend.

He'd held my arm so gently and then slid that sharp needle under my skin and pushed the plunger. I'd never felt so good. Everything disappeared. Then I did the same to him and we fucked like rabbits for the rest of the night.

The next night, he introduced me to a few of his friends, including this one guy who had a band with a few of his friends. They were pretty good, they said. They had a gig that night. It was at a place called CBGB's.

"You wanna come?" My guy asked. Let's call him Henry. Just for kicks.

"Sure," I said. Why not? It could be fun.

The place was smoky and reeked of alcohol and sweet Mary Jane. Henry rolled a joint and let me take a hit. Soon I was high as a kite and everything made me laugh.

The band, I think Henry called them the Well Hungarians, were great. Magnetic. Especially the singer. They way he sang into that microphone, his knees bent with pure emotion were almost heartbreaking. I had to meet him.

After the show was over, I caught him as he was packing up all his stuff. I knew I looked good. All legs and tits was how my pervy uncle described me once. And boy did I know how to flaunt it.

"Hey there," I said.

He looked up. Wow, he really was that handsome up close. "Hey there, Cutie Pie. Enjoy the show?"

I smiled seductively, stepping into the light so I made sure he saw my cleavage. "Oh, yeah. It was great. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

"Oh really?" He sidled up next to me. I could see him a bit better. Nice muscles… "What's your name?"

"April."

"Pretty name."

"What's yours?"

"Roger."

"I like it. Wanna fuck?"

I could see his eyes widen slightly but then he grinned. "Are you sure your little date won't mind?"

"What date?"

"The guy you walked in with."

Oh, yeah. Henry. I glanced around for him but I couldn't find him. He probably found someone new. "He's not my date. Just an…acquaintance of sorts. So, you game?"

Roger grinned and snapped the latches of his guitar case closed. "If you let me see that pretty smile I might consider it."

I smiled big, pressing myself against him. "Like it Lover Boy?"

"Love it."

A skinny blond guy called to Roger from a few yards away, "Roger, are you going to the Life with us?"

Roger turned to him and called back, "Nah, I'm just going home. See you in a while, Mark."

We went back to his loft on Avenue B and spent the night in his bed, high as the birds and the treetops. He was the best lay I'd had in awhile.

Still is. I glanced at his sleeping form in his bed. The sheets were tangled around his legs just perfectly, so that the sun shone in on his bare chest.

I needed a fix.

I used to ask myself, "April, what would you do for a fix?"

I wouldn't be able to answer. But now that I was hooked the answer was: anything.

I'd do anything. And that scared me but I was so strung out that I didn't care. I glanced back at Roger once before slipping out the door.

The man was waiting in his usual place. He was wearing his usual black trench coat and the usual smirk was on his face.

"Hey Honey Bunch. Will it be the usual?"

I hesitated before nodding. He held out his hand for the money. "I…I don't have any money."

The man's gaze darkened, but his smirk deepened. "Oh, you don't, huh? What will you give me in return?"

"Whatever you want," I said firmly.

"Well, I'm kinda horny right now. Looking for a nice quick fuck. What do you say about that, Honey Bunch? I always did want a piece of that ass."

I shivered. What was I doing? "You got it," I purred. "Can I get extra if I let you put it _anywhere?"_

The man shook his head in disbelief. "We'll see Honey Bunch."


	2. We Begin

You guys are going to kill me… I had this done last Tuesday and had multiple opportunities to upload it but…I forgot! I'm one of those people that can forget _anything that can be forgotten._

Anyway, all I have to say is that everyone should go out and find a picture of Adam Pascal's butt for me. Because then I would absolutely love you forever. _Hint: Go see Cabaret_ and bring a videocamera…_ ::grin:: I'm evil. But I want to see Adam Pascal's butt!_

Peace

-elodie

The Smiling Game

02: We Begin

An old friend of mine just had his whole left arm amputated.

I was out on the streets, about to pay the man a visit, the twenty dollar bills burning me through the thin fabric of my pants. I was sweating. I needed a fix so bad.

That's when I saw George. He was a projects kid like me. His parents either beat the shit out of him or ignored him, same as mine. He'd run about two years before I did, but we'd been close before he'd left.

I recognized his t-shirt first. It was black but had a red and orange and green dragon on the back. If I'd been closer, I would have been able to see the sparkles imbedded in the intricate design. He loved that shirt. He never had any money to go to the Laundromats but he wore it dirty or clean. It always smelled like sweat, but most of us neglected kids did any way.

"George?" I asked, approaching him. What if it wasn't him? It might not be. But I've only ever seen that shirt on one person before.

He turned around; eyes wide open in a startled, deer-caught-in-headlights type of way. It was George, but not the George I knew. He was taller, sure, but so much skinnier and his face looked gaunt and purpled. And then I saw the loose flap of his t-shirt sleeve hanging limply off his shoulder.

"April?"

I nodded, my eyes tearing up. "George, what happened to you?" My eyes darted from his empty stump back to his face.

George's face clouded over. "Got infected. Turned black. Docs sliced it off."

I winced. "Oh, George…"

"You a junkie too?"

My eyes lowered and I nodded. I was still ashamed a bit to admit it. But once I was high, everything went away. But now… Now, I just needed a fix.

George grabbed my shoulder with his remaining arm. "April, I need your help. I need it so bad. I'm going through withdrawal like you'd never believe but I can't shoot up and you're the only person I know around here. Listen, I got some junk at home and you're welcome to as much as you like, but I just need you to shoot me up."

I didn't answer at first. If this was some anonymous person, I would have immediately jumped on it. But this was _George_. But then again, free drugs… I was starting to shiver, despite the fact that it was nearly seventy degrees out. I nodded to George, "Sure. Let's go."

A couple of hours later, I found myself naked on his bare mattress on the floor of some awful apartment. It was even worse than Roger's loft. At least the had real furniture. All George had was a mattress, a toilet and an old lawn chair next to the window.

We'd started to come down off our high. We'd had some great sex. Despite only having one arm, George was one great fuck.

The shared needle lay discarded on the floor. George had always liked having people shoot him up, but now he has no choice. The doctors had tried to get him into rehab before, but George would have none of it. He was a worse slave than I was.

I slunk home in the early hours of the morning. I wondered if Roger had waited up. Probably not. He was probably out with the band or asleep or something.

I'd moved in with Roger about a month ago. My old roommate kicked me out after I fucked her boyfriend and Roger invited me to stay with him. He was too drugged up to really notice that I cheated on him.

Roger's roommates didn't like me much. Mark knew I cheated on Roger, and knew that I sometimes prostituted myself out. He didn't think I really cared about Roger, but I did. I _do_. I really do love Roger. I didn't at first, but he really grew on me. His little idiosyncrasies, you know? His quirks.

Tom Collins hates junkies. Thus he hates me. He's such a hypocrite. He has no qualms about sitting at home all day smoking some weed but hates me just because I have to shoot up to get high. Benny doesn't mind me, but he's the indifferent one. He isn't as home as much now that he has this new girlfriend. Her name is…Shit, I can never remember. It's like Buffy or Allie or something. I know, it's Muffy. Only thing I know about her is that she's loaded.

I get along with Mark's girlfriend, Maureen. She isn't a junkie but she's like me in the fact that she sleeps around a lot. I guess I can bond with her better than the other roommates because of the feminine bond most girls share, but we we're similar in personality too. We'd grown up in restricting areas, our parents were less than perfect, we'd both been devirginized by age fourteen.

As I opened the door to the loft, I heard a dry voice cut through the silence. "Out again, April?"

I gritted my teeth. Count on Mark to say something. "Yes, Mark."

"Out with Roger?"

"No."

"Know where Roger is?"

"No."

"You're high, April."

I glared at him. "So?"

"You're high and you're cheating on Roger."

I wanted to hit that little blond face or grab those horrible glasses and crush them under my shoe. "Roger doesn't care." I tried to push past him but Mark grabbed my arm and held me in place.

"Do you know that Roger doesn't cheat on you? He never cheats. I don't think he's ever cheated on any girlfriend in his life. Did you know that?"

Sobered, I shook my head 'no'.

"Do you know why he doesn't cheat?"

I shook my head again.

"Because when he was a kid, his dad would cheat on his mom so openly, it was disgusting. But she never left him because she loved him. You want to be like that? Roger will stay with you because he genuinely loves you. And I have a feeling that's very one-sided."

"Shut up!" I yelled at him, yanking my arm out of his grasp. "I love Roger. I do. You may not believe me, but I do."

Mark's fact twisted in disgust and he turned his back to retreat into his room. Before disappearing into the darkness he turned back to me and said, "You might want to start showing it."

Defeated, I sunk down on the couch and drew my knees to my chest. I felt like crying, but no tears came. Tears never came easily to me. I don't cry much.

Later that night, when Roger slunk in, his clothes and breath reeking of alcohol, I drew him into my arms and kissed him tenderly and whispered that I loved him. It killed me that he wouldn't remember. It was, after all, the first time I'd ever told him.

God, did I love that man…


	3. Birdland

As you might be able to tell, I've been busy as heck and haven't been able to work on this much. I actually wrote this whole thing last night when I was supposed to be doing my Honors Biology homework. Fun fun. Anyway, I might have more time soon since the goddamn terms ending, meaning that they'll give us less work. Fucking idiots, piling on work in the last week. Anyway, ignore the rant and keep your eye out for Adam Pascal's butt…

And Arch of Wand… I'm scared… Should I be scared? lol!

The Smiling Game

03: Birdland

It was a year, three months and eight days into our relationship when Roger confronted me about all the men.

He stormed into my room. I was lying on my stomach in bed, chewing some peppermint gum and reading through a copy of Vogue I traded off the street for a blowjob. He was sober, first time I'd seen him like that in weeks. He was either drunk or high or some mixture of both around me.

"April, you've got to stop."

I looked up innocently, the gum snapping in my mouth. "Stop what, Rog?"

"Sleeping around, April. What else?"

I paused, looking away. "How'd you find out?"

"Word gets around. I saw you once. The man tells me you were the best fuck he'd had in weeks. April, it's dangerous!"

"Says who?" I snapped, sitting up straight. "How is it dangerous? Living my life to the fullest is a dangerous job, but I'd rather do that than sit at home and waste away like some fucking housewife! Is that what you want me to be? A fucking _housewife?"_

Roger pulled me up roughly and hissed right in my face, "Some of the guys you sleep with are shady guys, April. They could kill you. Plus, who knows what diseases they have?"  
  


I wrenched myself out of his grip and grinned wildly. Arguing and fighting made me feel alive and crazy. I could wail on him, I could scream rape, I could do a number of things. But no, I'll choose to joke…. "Diseases, shmiseases. I'm not ever going to get sick. I've got a good immune system. Vitamin C! Lots of orange juice, huh?"

"That's not the only juice…" Roger muttered, running his hands through his shock of dirty blond hair.

"What's that supposed to me? You fucking hypocrite! You're on everything that I'm fucking on so don't you go calling the kettle black!"

Roger's eyes turned cold. If there was one thing he hated, it was hypocrites and to call him a hypocrite was the worst offense anyone could commit. "Get out." His voice was quiet but so cold. It caught me dead in my tracks.

I turned to face him slowly. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Get out. I've had enough. You sleep around, you don't pay any bills, you insult me. I've had enough of you. You're just a goddamn freeloader. A fucking parasite, April." And then his voice turned mocking. Bitter mockery is what it was. "And we all know that humans hate parasites, _Cutie Pie_."

My jaw dropped. I'd never, _ever, heard Roger talk to anyone like that, let alone me. "Roger, I-"_

"Save it." He waved me off. "Face it, April. Right now, you're a pretty fucking useless excuse for a human being. Do yourself a favor and get a _job_. I…I love you April, I really do." He had regret in his eyes… _Please, God, please let him take me back… "If you get a job and promise me that you won't cheat, I'll take you back. I promise. Until then, you can't stay here."_

It's better than nothing. There's hope, even if there's just a smidgen. But I had to leave… I hadn't been without a roof over my head since my first day in the city. I'd always had the security of a guy with an apartment that I happened to be sleeping with.

Silently, I packed a small bag. Just necessities. Clothes, some money, my day's purchase with the man, and set out to find a job.

Outside the building, I sat down and leaned against the cold concrete and sighed. I could find a job easy, right? I could dance… There wasn't a lack of strip joints in Alphabet City.

As my pervy uncle always said, I _am_ all legs and tits. Guys like legs, guys _love_ tits. I got nice ones. Nice legs, nice tits. I remember walking past a place near here.  The Cat Scratch Club or something… I'd seen a 'Help Wanted' sign in the window. Perhaps they needed a dancer?

I pulled myself up and headed in the direction of the club. Was I really that much of a freeloader?

A song popped into my head and I immediately smiled. "Freddie Freeloader". Excellent, excellent stuff. When I was in high school, I _loved_ jazz. I lived for jazz. I didn't listen to all the crap that was on the radio, despite what people may have thought.

Jazz may not have been cool, but I didn't care. It made me feel like I was high before I'd ever been high. I listened to any jazz I could get my hands on. Dizzy Gillespie, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holliday, John Coltrane, Lena Horne, Count Basie, and of course Miles Davis.

When I was fifteen, I'd gotten a hold of 'Kind of Blue' on vinyl and listened to it so much that it wore out. I especially loved jazz vocalists, but up until then, I couldn't sing a note. I taught myself though, but my voice was always raspy and weird. But Roger liked it, said it sounded like Janis Joplin's. He just couldn't see what I saw in jazz.

I couldn't explain it. It was like heroin, you know? It made me feel good. If I stopped listening to it, I felt as if I could die.

I loved 'Freddie Freeloader'. I just hadn't realized in all the times I'd listened to Kind of Blue, that I'd melted myself into the song.

It was true. I was just another goddamn freeloader. But that's all going to change. For I stood in front of the Cat Scratch Club in the early afternoon on a cold winter morning. Little Miss April was going to be a working girl.

Several hours later, I had a job. I was on stage, dancing my ass off. I was handcuffed to a pole and during my elaborate coked out dance, my dancing partner would spank me hard.

Humiliating, but I had a job.

I went back to Roger later that night with a purse full of tips. I'd made five hundred dollars that night.

I buzzed his from down on the street. There was a pause, but then he bid me come up.

Roger met me at the door, taking in my clothes and elaborate makeup.

"I got a job," I said quietly.

He nodded, motioning me in. I was sure I'd woken him up. Mark sat at the table writing, and Collins and Benny were playing chess in the corner.

Mark looked up and scoffed. "Jeez, what? A hooker?"

I scowled at him. "No, a dancer."

Roger didn't smile, but he looked a bit relieved that I wasn't a hooker. "How much did you make?"

"Five hundred."

He whistled. "I'm proud, April."

"Proud of her actually doing something to support her own sorry ass?" Mark shook his head in disgust, throwing down his pencil. "A dancer, huh? I guess I can see it. Guys like half-naked girls who are all legs and tits."

I froze up. "Don't say that you fucker!" I screamed at him, backing against the closed door, my bag dropping to the floor.

"Shut up, Mark!" Roger said harshly. "You say that again and I'll beat the living shit out of you."

I was beginning to cry. Memories came rushing back. He'd backed me up against the door, held my arms up over my head, pinning me in place as his dirty mustache tickled my neck. I leaped off from against the door. No where was safe…

"What? It was practically a compliment!" Mark protested, his eyes wide and uncertain.

All four of them were staring at me, confused as to why I was reacting the way I was.

First against the door, then on the couch, and then he'd dragged me to his room and onto his dirty bare mattress.

"My pervy uncle used to say that…" I whispered so quietly, my eyes still darting around everywhere.

I'd never told any of them before. They thought I was some random slut that got beat up at home. No, it was so much more than that.

Roger immediately understood. I'm sure the others did too, but Roger grabbed my hand and pulled me into his room - our room.

"You look like you need a fix."

I nodded, so grateful.

"I guessed, you know," He remarked. "It was pretty obvious. I recognized the signs. My sister's the same way. Molested by my step dad. You should really consider therapy."

"No money."

"Now there is." He offered me a small smile. I winced as he slid the needle under my skin, but it felt so good.

I leaned in close to him and whispered, my lips against his ear, "Kiss me sweet and we'll go flying high in birdland. High in the sky up above, all because we're in love."

"That's pretty," He whispered. "Did you make it up?"

"Lord no. I heard Ella Fitzgerald sing it. It's our Lullaby of Birdland, Rog. Take me to Birdland and I'll cover your back. We'll fly on our great feathered wings up with the birds in the clouds. Follow me?"

"Anywhere you go," He winced. "Oh, that feels good."

"Exquisite pain. Self-destruction never felt better, eh?" I dropped the shared needle absently on the floor next to the bed and kissed him tenderly. "That's the kind of magic, music we make when we kiss." I laced my fingers through his, mine thin with the nails painted bright red, his long and thick with the nails bitten and angry-looking. "Lullaby of birdland, that's what I always hear when you sigh. Never in my wordland can there be ways to reveal in a phrase how I feel."

"April, you're my muse. Be my owl and I'll be your canary."

I pulled him back on the bed and began laughing. "Oh, silly. We'd never see each other. Owls are nocturnal and canaries are in cages. I could never eat mice and you could never be stuck in a cage."

Roger lay next to me, laughing harder. "No one could ever cage me. I'll always be in charge, deciding where I go and when I go. Hell, I'm not going to die until I'm damn well ready to, when I'm an old man and you're my little old lady."


End file.
